


I Don't Love You (I Always Will)

by shingekinoboyfriends



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, that's really all you need to know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5246951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shingekinoboyfriends/pseuds/shingekinoboyfriends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things take time. Anything that’s good, anything that matters – things like love don’t happen in an instant, the way they do in movies. They grow. They bloom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Love You (I Always Will)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queenoftheantz](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=queenoftheantz).



> this fic was supposed to be written for queenoftheantz as a birthday present... last year... gomen myra u_u but, after talking about how badly we needed a slow-burn daisuga fic... it resulted in me finally, FINALLY finishing this! i hope you like it!! c:

Things take time. Anything that’s good, anything that matters – things like love don’t happen in an instant, the way they do in movies. They grow. They bloom.

 

When Daichi first meets Suga, it’s in their first year of high school. They’re in the same homeroom class, but before their eyes meet across the gym from each other on the first day of volleyball practice, they don’t allow themselves to exist within the same orbit.

 

But they do notice each other – that first day, at least – and then, outside of practice, they notice each other again. And again.

 

All beginnings have to start somewhere.

 

Suga is the one to break the ice. He takes a deep breath as he enters the club room, seeing Daichi turned to face the corner while pulling on a t-shirt before practice, and when he slides the door closed behind him with authority, the loudness of the click is enough to startle Daichi into looking over his shoulder just as the fabric settles at his waist.

 

“Hello,” Suga says simply.

 

Daichi’s eyes widen slightly. “Um. Hi.”

 

Suga takes his bag off his shoulder and opens a locker, hanging it up on a hook and unzipping his jacket. “I’ve seen you in class,” he says. “I mean, we have the same homeroom, and we see each other often enough… I’m Sugawara Koushi – you can call me Suga though.”

 

Daichi raises an eyebrow. He’s quiet for a moment, still a little taken aback by the suddenness of introduction, but after quickly deciding that things would be even weirder if this never happened, he determines that this kid is probably not a bad person. So he clears his throat.

 

“Suga, huh?” He turns around to face the boy who has already started changing into his practice uniform. Daichi folds his arms across his chest and lets the corner of his lips turn upward. “Alright. I’m Sawamura Daichi… You can call me Daichi.”

 

Suga pulls a clean t-shirt on over his head, tugs the ends down over the edge of his gym shorts, and tilts his head with a smile. “No cute nicknames for you, then?”

 

“I mean,” Daichi laughs, deflating a little, “my name doesn’t really lend itself to cute shortenings.”

 

“Your name is just fine. Sounds like a nice, buff guy’s name.”

 

“Yeah, sounds about right,” Daichi replies, raising an arm and flexing weakly before both of them burst into laughter. 

 

They walk to practice together that day – and that’s how it all begins.

 

* * *

 

It takes them a year to warm up to each other, to the idea of friendship existing outside of the classroom or the gym or the clubroom. It takes them a year for Daichi to invite Suga over to study, a year for Suga to invite Daichi to get pork buns after practice, a year for them to decide they liked each other well enough to push the boundaries.

 

“I can’t believe it took us this long just to study together,” Suga says, sitting across the table from Daichi, cross-legged on the floor with a cup of steaming tea set between them. “If I’d known you were so bad at English, I probably would have offered to help sooner.”

 

Daichi looks up from his textbook at Suga, his expression completely flat. “Ha, ha.”

 

Suga giggles. “Just saying.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Daichi starts, looking back down at his math textbook and starting a new problem, “if _I_ had known you were so bad at math, I would have had to take pity on you, _and_ take you up on some tutoring in exchange for your mom’s famous okonomiyaki.”

 

“I wouldn’t let her hear you say that. Otherwise she’ll be feeding you okonomiyaki until you’re blue in the face.”

 

“Don’t see any downside to that,” Daichi replies honestly, tapping his chin. “And also, I don’t think that’s the right use of that phrase.”

 

Suga kicks him under the table, and he smiles.

 

* * *

 

On a Friday night during their second year, Suga decides to propose hosting a team movie night. Most of the third years show up, as well as Daichi, Asahi, and a few of the new first years as well – the loud ones, to no one’s surprise.

 

It’s Suga’s idea, and he happens to have the most vacant house due to both his parents on vacation together. He also doesn’t have any annoying younger siblings, like their team captain does (four younger sisters and an entire team of boys volleyball players would not have made his parents happy).

 

Daichi and Asahi get there early to help him set up; they pop popcorn, get out Suga’s massive collection of DVD’s (mostly action and horror movies), and retrieve a dozen pillows and blankets from his so-called “comfy closet.”

 

When the team gets there, they bring with them snack foods on snack foods, things to pass that they don’t have to worry about spilling on Suga’s family’s nice furniture. The third years claim the giant sofa-sized chairs on either side of the couch, Asahi winds up somehow stuck on the middle couch in between the two lively first years, and Daichi and Suga set up camp on the floor against the eastern wall.

 

The third years and first years decide amongst themselves that it’s going to be a horror movie festival, and as soon as they press play, the lights go off, Asahi starts sweating, and Daichi crawls quickly across the floor to snag a bowl of popcorn for he and Suga to share.

 

Suga lifts up the blanket and lets Daichi reposition himself beneath it. There’s something unspoken between them that results in them always being paired together. Daichi knows this; he tries not to question it, but a little voice in his head begins searching for an answer as soon as the actors on the big screen decide to pair off in search of the demon haunting the main character.

 

He knows it has something to do with the fact that they’re both second years, and that Asahi almost always gets dragged into that first year Nishinoya’s crazy schemes.

 

But, he knows, that’s not the only reason why.

 

It’s unintentional, when a jump scare appears on the screen and the whole team yelps in surprise, and Daichi’s knee-jerk reaction is to grab Suga’s hand. It’s also unintentional when he fails to let go for an entire scene afterward, when he notices the way Suga’s fingers – already threaded through his – tighten for no particular reason. And, finally, it’s unintentional when Daichi’s do the same.

 

Then they let go. They ignore it. They laugh with the others when Asahi tries to hide underneath a blanket and Tanaka yanks it away and forces him to watch as a guy possessed by a demon tears another character’s throat open. They disregard the accidental way their hands brush against each other in the popcorn bowl, and Daichi is certain not to think too hard about it when Suga’s head falls on his shoulder during movie number three.

 

He doesn’t want to remember, later that night as he lies awake in his bed, sleepless, the feeling of Suga’s hair against his neck.

 

(But he can’t help it.)

 

* * *

 

Daichi decides to introduce Suga to Michimiya during the winter of their second year. He invites her to get hot chocolate with him, Suga and Asahi after their last day of classes before winter break, and when Suga sees her, it’s like he knows.

 

Michimiya is interested in Daichi.

 

They’ve known each other for a long time, probably as long as he and Asahi have known each other. That much is obvious. He can see their friendship like something physical, like a flower that blossoms just as soon as they see each other.

 

He sees it in the way she laughs at all of Daichi’s jokes – even the stupid ones that aren’t funny, the ones that are more like dad jokes – and in the way her eyes light up each time he addresses her.

 

It’s natural. It’s magnetic.

 

Suga can’t blame her either; Daichi has it all going for him. The looks. The personality. The way his eyebrows furrow together when he’s thinking especially hard about something, the way his hands immediately find the back of his neck when he gets embarrassed, the way he smiles and the whole room seems brighter.

 

And, as much as he hates to admit it, he couldn’t blame Daichi for liking Michimiya, either.

 

Michimiya is nice, _really_ nice. She’s sweet, and cute, and funny in the way he thinks lots of nice girls in their year are funny. They blush, and do cute things with their hands, like twirling their hair around their fingers or covering their mouths when they laugh. Her laugh is cute, too. It rings in the air like a bell. Suga thinks, maybe Michimiya and Daichi wouldn’t be so bad together.

 

Something in the very bottom of his stomach starts to burn. A cut.

 

He wonders, that evening he leaves the café alone, what it would take for him to be allowed to hold Daichi the way he knows Michimiya someday will.

 

* * *

 

They don’t decide to attend college together until their third year. They spend so much time together that it only seems natural, especially when Daichi confides in Suga that he’d like to play volleyball on a college team, and Tokyo has one of the best volleyball teams in the country. Suga wants to study education, and his grades are good enough to get into all of the best schools.

 

Somewhere in the midst of crazy practices – losing half their team, gaining new members, regrouping old members and garnering a new coach – they find time to plan for the future.

 

“Maybe we could even be roommates,” Daichi sighs, eyes falling closed as he leans back against the lockers in the club room, waiting for Suga to finish packing up so they can walk home together. “Wouldn’t that be cool? Us, in Tokyo.”

 

 _Us,_ Suga thinks, and as he zips up his jacket, he feels his cheeks begin to warm.

 

“I would love that,” he tells Daichi honestly, and as soon as he turns around, Daichi’s eyes meet his. They watch each other for a moment in silence, before Daichi smiles, nods once, and waits for Suga to nod back.

 

An unspoken promise hangs in the air, and like some invisible thread, their futures twine together.

 

* * *

 

Daichi isn’t sure why, but he’s nervous. The question has been budding in the back of his mind for weeks, the one he wants to propose to Suga, uncomfortable in some inexplicable way that has kept him from asking at all.

 

However, when Suga asks him to get pork buns after practice on the night he’s supposed to study with Michimiya, he knows he has to.

 

“Actually,” Daichi says slowly, “I kind of have plans.”

 

“Oh,” Suga says simply, and he can’t hide the surprise in his eyes, even when he turns his gaze down to meet his shoes.

 

“Listen, Suga, I’ve been meaning to ask you…”

 

There’s a silence surrounding them. Suga coughs, then bends over to tie his shoes to try and fill the space with something to occupy himself. “What is it?” he finally forces himself to ask.

 

Daichi bites his lip, and before he even says it, he feels that this might be some sort of mistake.

 

“I’ve been thinking,” he starts slowly. “Um, about Michimiya… I’ve been hanging out with her a lot lately, and. I guess, uh, I’ve been wondering what you thought of her.”

 

Suga straightens, dusts his hands. Then he smiles brightly, and it doesn’t look at all put-on, the way it really feels. “Why should it matter what I think of her?”

 

“Well,” Daichi starts again, then stops. He can’t think of a good enough reason.

 

“She’s nice,” Suga says encouragingly. He’s always done this for Daichi, been there to steady him, to cheer him on. And not just for Daichi – for everyone. “Do you want to ask her out?”

 

Daichi is quiet for a minute before he shrugs. Nods. “I think so.”

 

Suga’s smile doesn’t falter.

 

“Then ask her.”

 

* * *

 

There’s a pivotal moment that buries everything. It’s sometime after the cancelled study sessions, after Michimiya starts showing up at the end of volleyball practice to walk with Daichi home, after months of _knowing_ and never asking.

 

He sees them through the club room window – from the place that has always felt like it belonged to them. The sun outside is setting, casting an orange glow across Suga’s face.

 

He hears a laugh from outside – light, girly – and before he looks, it’s as though he already knows. His stomach sinks. He can feel it, like getting back up only to get knocked out. A punch. A blow.

 

When his eyes fall on them (up against the wall, his hands at the sides of her neck, fingertips grazing her soft jawline, her arms around his neck, chests pressed up against one another’s, smiling against each other’s lips) he can feel something shatter inside him.

 

Turning away, his back falls hard against the wall. His eyes slip shut. His hand (slowly, unsteadily) reaches up to grab the cloth of his t-shirt, pulling it, waiting for it to pass, waiting for the sharpness stabbing in his chest to stop.

 

It doesn’t.

 

He curls in on himself. His eyebrows pull together, teeth bite harshly down on his lower lip. His back slides down the wall until he’s seated, folding and unfolding and folding all over again.

 

* * *

 

Asahi stops before walking in. Through the small window on the club room door, his eyes catch sight of the boy, seated up against the wall, shoulders shaking. Hurt pours from his eyes.

 

He turns with clenched fists, stopping Hinata and Kageyama on their way up  the steps to the club room, shakes his head, and urges them back down. _Just wait a few minutes, please._ They question him only briefly, but when they see the look in his eyes, they do their best to understand.

 

 _Daichi,_ Asahi thinks, gritting his teeth, _you’ll never understand, will you?_

 

* * *

 

High school graduation feels strange. It’s the end of one part of their lives, and the beginning of another.

 

Suga thinks he’s signing his own personal death wish when he agrees still to room with Daichi at the University of Tokyo. He sees Asahi’s face when Daichi tells him they’re going together – and that Michimiya will be coming, too – and Suga knows he must look like the most pitiful excuse for a man. To keep holding onto something that will never happen, to follow where you shouldn’t go… And Suga knows he shouldn’t go.

 

But he does, because the thought of losing Daichi entirely is too hard.

 

* * *

 

Daichi decides that Suga is probably the best roommate he will ever have.

 

He’s never had to live with someone else, but he certainly doesn’t take Suga’s neatness and cleanliness for granted. He appreciates the fresh flowers Suga keeps planted in their kitchenette, appreciates the way everything smells fresh because Suga is a little too Fabreeze-happy.

 

Besides, he’s seen Kuroo and Bokuto’s dorm. He has seen what hell looks like.

 

Additionally, Suga doesn’t snore. He doesn’t wake Daichi up when he leaves at 7:30 for his 8:00 class. He even shares his food when Daichi is too lazy to get groceries.

 

But, what Daichi thinks is the best thing about living with Suga isn’t any of those reasons. Those are just perks.

 

The absolute best part about living with Suga is being with him, all the time.

 

Daichi never gets sick of having him around. He never gets sick of seeing Suga already up on Saturday mornings before he has to go to volleyball practice, just lounging in his boxers and a t-shirt, eating breakfast with his nose in a book.

 

He likes being near Suga, to simply be with him when he does his normal daily tasks. Closeness when they watch TV, closeness when they get ready for bed. Bumping into each other when they both decide to make dinner at the same time. Suga’s cold feet tucking under his leg when they work on homework together.

 

(Daichi also came upon the realization that he liked how calm Suga looks. He noticed it on a night that he’d stayed late at practice, and then had stayed late visiting Michimiya’s dorm after that. He hadn’t come home until 2 am, and when he flicked the lamp near his desk so he could find pajamas, he’d glanced across the room at Suga. He was asleep, mouth open just slightly, his face completely at peace. Daichi caught himself staring, then caught himself crossing the room quietly, getting just close enough to see the way Suga’s long eyelashes zippered shut.)

 

Living with Suga is easy. And natural. And Daichi counts himself lucky that Suga likes living with him, too.

 

* * *

 

Suga actually hates living with Daichi.

 

It’s not that Daichi’s a slob – he’s not. He’s tidy (for the most part, anyway), considerate when he comes home late, and he makes it his priority to say goodnight each and every night, even if he’s not home.

 

But that’s the thing – he’s _hardly ever_ home.

 

Sure, they have dinner together a few nights a week. They sometimes do homework together. But, between school, practice, and Michimiya, Suga feels like he’s just extra baggage in Daichi’s life. Like living with him is hard. A chore. Like having to ask Suga how his day went is just a formality that he couldn’t possibly have time to actually care about.

 

He especially hates living with Daichi when he wakes up in the morning to an empty bed – to find that Daichi isn’t there, that he spent the night somewhere else.

 

He hates it, because he knows where Daichi’s at. Who he’s with.

 

(Suga doesn’t cry about it anymore.)

 

* * *

 

There’s a boy in Suga’s biology class. He’s not his lab partner, but Suga notices the way his eyes watch him whenever he gets up to do anything – and it’s a miracle, that for the first time in his life, Suga is not the first one to introduce himself.

 

He’s in the middle of filling out a Punnett square when he hears someone clear their throat in front of him. When he looks up, his eyes widen.

 

The boy staring down at him is smiling – and, Suga thinks, he’s like the sun. Warm. Golden.

 

“I’m Takeshi,” the boy tells him, “and after two weeks of observing you in class, I have determined that you are, in fact, the most beautiful person I have ever seen in my life.”

 

Suga is not usually one to be at a loss for words – but he can’t help it when his mouth drops open, jaw practically landing on the floor, and his cheeks begin to burn furiously.

 

The boy in front of him smiles with his lip between his teeth. He sets one hand on Suga’s desk, and before Suga can come up with any sort of response (sophisticated or likewise), his other hand grabs Suga’s pencil and writes a phone number down on the corner of his paper.

 

“I don’t know you,” Takeshi continues, “but I would really, really like to… So, text me.”

 

Eventually, Suga manages a nod, and upon receiving recognition, the boy turns back around, raises one fist in the air victoriously, and walks out the door at the exact moment class ends.

 

* * *

 

Daichi doesn’t get along with Suga’s new boyfriend.

 

He tries – he really, really does – but they simply don’t see eye-to-eye on anything. Not on politics. Not on hobbies. Not on television. There is not one single thing Daichi can agree with him on, and he has trouble finding any sort of redeeming quality that could possibly attract Suga to him.

 

When Suga first told him that he had a boyfriend, it was October, and Daichi was in the middle of eating a sandwich. He was flipping mindlessly through the TV channels instead of working on his psychology homework like he actually should have been, and when Suga ever-so-casually dropped the bomb, Daichi just nodded, letting the statement pass through him as though it were nothing at all.

 

Then he stopped. Let the words sink back in. Stopped chewing. Muted the television. Turned to look back at Suga, who was preparing dinner in the kitchenette a few feet away. Suga wasn’t looking at him – he was staring out the window above the sink, his hands running a cucumber under freezing cold water, entirely motionless. His mouth was a thin line.

 

“You… have a…” Daichi repeated, trying to wrap his head around what he thought he had just heard Suga say.

 

“I have a boyfriend,” Suga said again, this time a little louder, a little more confident.

 

Daichi’s eyes had widened, and then he’d turned back to the television, trying to take another bite of the sandwich but finding that it tasted like cardboard.

 

“Congratulations,” he’d forced out.

 

And Suga had replied: “Thanks.”

 

Now, Daichi wishes he hadn’t congratulated him. He should have known, that anyone who had the balls to ask Suga out the way he did was an absolute scumbag. Where did he get off being so cocky? Daichi didn’t like the way he talked, like he was constantly trying to make Suga sweat. Like Daichi wasn’t right there in the living room with them.

 

He didn’t want to know what went on when he wasn’t there – which, granted was most of the time. But maybe that was for the best. That way, he didn’t have to pretend not to see Takeshi’s hand on Suga’s waist when they thought he wasn’t looking. He didn’t have to force a smile when Takeshi said something that was supposed to be funny, something that made Suga laugh really, really hard.

 

He didn’t have to pretend that some part of him didn’t feel anything.

 

Because he didn’t have the right to.

 

But he did, anyway.

 

* * *

 

They don’t room together their second year. Suga doesn’t say anything when he requests living with Takeshi, but Daichi feels he shouldn’t be surprised. Or grateful.

 

He’s both.

 

Daichi opts out of living in the dorms their second year, and instead rents an apartment on campus with Michimiya. It turns out, she likes fresh flowers, too. She smells just as good as Suga. She’s clean. She’s cute when she sleeps.

 

Living with Michimiya is just as good as living with Suga, except now he doesn’t have to plan his life around when they can meet up to have sex. Now, they can do it whenever – and it’s awesome.

 

 

He can’t explain why things just don’t feel the same, and when he wakes up with Michimiya’s body pressed up next to his, he feels sad that Suga isn’t going to be out in the living room, reading and drinking tea and smiling up at him with the sun in his hair.

 

He misses Suga.

 

He misses the fact that, for just a short period of time, their worlds overlapped.

 

* * *

 

They don’t stop being friends.

 

At least, right away.

 

Suga goes to most of Daichi’s volleyball matches – the ones in Tokyo, anyway. He likes going, because Bokuto and Kuroo are both there, and he really likes them. They’re funny, and they make the matches exciting. He also likes the memories that come back to him when he watches the games – of their final year, of the momentum their team had, of their power, and the way the ball felt when it made contact with his hands for so many fleeting moments.

 

Of course, attending their home volleyball games lets him check in on Daichi. To see how his captain has improved. He also knows that it’s only here where he can follow Daichi with his eyes, without having to feel guilty about it.

 

He brings Takeshi with him, and Takeshi – who brings such passion and vibrancy to Suga’s life, who isn’t afraid to cheer wildly before grabbing Suga’s hand and pumping it in the air – doesn’t necessarily love volleyball, but rather just enjoys going out and doing things with Suga by his side.

 

These are the things he loves about Takeshi – that he wouldn’t be afraid to shout it to the world that he loves him.

 

He’s not afraid of a lot of things – he’s also not afraid to tell Suga that he doesn’t particularly like Daichi, even though it hurts Suga’s feelings. _That’s my best friend, you know._

 

 _Yeah, some friend,_ Takeshi would reply, _he barely makes time for you._

 

As an extension of his distaste for Daichi, Takeshi doesn’t particularly like Michimiya, either… And, as much as Suga has been hurt by her in the past, she is a good girl. A wonderful human being. In Suga’s opinion, if there was ever someone out there to help participate in the breaking of his heart, he was glad it had been her.

 

After his games, Daichi would come to thank them both for coming. He would wrap his arm around Michimiya and shake their hands, and they would talk about school and work and friends. They would make themselves believe their lives still fit together.

 

They would smile. They would pretend.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t hurt as much anymore. The more time that passes, the more time he spends away from Daichi, away from his girlfriend and his activities and study dates and terrible cooking, little by little, his heart starts to mend.

 

 _But,_ he thinks, guilt consuming him as he lies in bed beside Takeshi, his head tucked underneath Takeshi’s chin, _it’ll never be the same._

 

* * *

 

Time passes. College ends.

 

Daichi and Michimiya stay together, get a house together. They talk about getting a dog – or, alternatively, starting a family.

 

They talk about marriage.

 

She expects him to propose when they graduate, only he doesn’t. He’s not sure what’s stopping him; it’s not money, because his new office job has secured that end of things. It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ a family, because he does.

 

It’s… something else.

 

Something Daichi doesn’t want to think about.

 

* * *

 

Across town, Suga and Takeshi get their own place. Suga teaches Takeshi lots of things, like how to survive without ordering take-out every night, how to keep flowers alive, how to love. Takeshi teaches Suga how to forget.

 

* * *

 

Daichi’s on the verge of sleep when the ending begins.

 

“Daichi,” Michimiya murmurs softly against his back, which is turned toward her.

 

“Hmm,” he replies.

 

Her arm drapes across his chest, splaying her fingers with her palm flat over his heart. He doesn’t flinch, and it doesn’t seem to beat any differently.

 

“We need to talk,” she says, voice still soft, but Daichi can tell he’s heard something in her tone that is very serious.

 

“Can’t we do it in the morning?” he asks, knowing whatever it is, he isn’t going to like it.

 

She’s quiet for a moment, maybe deciding. “No,” she says eventually. “We need to talk now, or I won’t ever be able to say this.”

 

Daichi’s eyes flutter open. Something in his stomach – a knot – starts to tighten. This is what he thinks it is. He knows it is as soon as he turns over to face her, and he sees her eyes all welled up, wet, ready to spill at any given moment.

 

“Hey,” he says quietly, raising a hand to wipe at her eyes. “Talk to me.”

 

She closes her eyes, lets the tears drain down to her ears, dampening her pillow. “That’s the problem… There _is_ no talking to you.”

 

Daichi swallows. Hard.

 

“I want a family,” Michimiya continues, her voice quiet, breaking. “I want kids, and I believe you when you say you do, too. But, Daichi… How can we start a family… when you won’t have me anymore?”

 

He goes silent.

 

This has been coming for a long time.

 

Michimiya’s eyes open, and she holds Daichi’s gaze in hers. “You need to be honest with me now.”

 

He nods.

 

“Are you fucking somebody else?”

 

Daichi grabs her shoulders, grounding her. “You know I would never do that to you,” he says honestly.

 

“Well, have you… like… _mentally_ fucked someone else?”

 

His expression goes blank. He raises an eyebrow tentatively. “What?”

 

She groans, irritated by the fact that she can’t accurately express what she’s trying to say. “You know. Like… like, you’ve been with me, but you’ve been thinking about being with someone else. Like, you didn’t actually fuck somebody but you haven’t been a hundred percent honest in fucking _me_ because you were always secretly in love with some other woman.”

 

Daichi feels it like a punch to the stomach.

 

“It’s not another woman.”

 

“Then, what is it?” she practically yells, yanking herself out from underneath him, sitting up in bed, not bothering to fix the tank top strap that falls down her shoulder. Her hair is a mess. Her face is a mess.

 

Her heart’s a mess.

 

“I know there’s something,” she shouts at him as he sits upright. She’s grasping out at straws, trying to figure out what’s the missing factor in the equation, because she knows there’s something he’s not telling her and she is going to find out what it is.

 

All Daichi can do is stare back at her; back at the girl he’s known since primary school, the girl he’s been sleeping with since he was 16, the girl who was so strong and determined and held together an entire volleyball team that was on the verge of crumbling. The girl who blushed when he would come and visit her in class. The girl with laughter that sounded like bells.

 

That girl seems far away now. He wonders if he’s the one who pushed her there.

 

“Michimiya,” he starts, eyes falling now to his hands. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

 

“Then try,” she says – and the way she does makes it almost sound like a plea.

 

He’s quiet.

 

 _How do I say it?_ he thinks. _How do I tell you what I’m not even sure of myself – how could I possibly explain the way I feel? The way he made me feel…_

  

Like a spark, he realizes.

 

“Daichi?” she asks, trying to read his expression.

 

It’s as though he’s stopped breathing. The way his shoulders start to shake, the way he can feel the heat that’s always been there start catching fire, to burn through his bloodstream, in his stomach, in his heart…

 

He reaches a hand up to rub his eye, only to find that he’s crying.

 

“Daichi,” Michimiya repeats, and suddenly, she’s taken the role of nurturer. Her hands find his face, which starts to crumble before her soft palms meet the strong line of his jaw.

 

Her thumbs press to the tears that leak from the corners of his eyes, and that’s all it takes.

 

Suddenly, his breathing turns ragged and his face is pressed to the curve of her neck, the place he used to press his lips, hot and open-mouthed and needy. Now, all he really needs is someone he can’t have. Someone he’ll never have.

 

His mind ignites. _It was always you._

 

“I think,” she says softly after a while, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, “that I might have known… for a long time.”

 

“I _do_ love you,” he manages, trying to hold himself together as the cracks in his foundation start to give way.

 

“I know,” she tells him, her own tears catching in his hair.

 

Daichi wraps his arms around her waist, fisting at the fabric of her shirt. He has never felt this way. He’s never _let_ himself.

 

It comes all at once – the way pain often does.

 

A flood that drowns the eyes.

 

A flood that drowns the heart.

 

* * *

 

They break up. They move out.

 

Daichi texts Asahi, who just acknowledges, understanding that explanations are sometimes too hard to give. This is good – Daichi doesn’t feel like explaining anything. Or, rather, admitting what happened. His mother is heartbroken – she loved Michimiya. He’s quite certain Michimiya’s father wants to kill him.

 

Still, they don’t know everything. The only people Daichi gives the entire truth to are Michimiya and himself. For now, that’s the best he can do.

 

Living on his own is strange. Letting his sink overflow with dishes, allowing his closet to become fully empty before taking his clothes downtown to wash, never making his bed and never picking up a bottle of Fabreeze.

 

It’s as though his body rejects anything and everything that reminds him of Michimiya.

 

Or _him_.

 

* * *

 

Takeshi proposes on their fifth anniversary. They’re 24.

 

Suga accepts with tears in his eyes, and for one whole day, Daichi never crosses his mind. Not even once.

 

And then he wakes up. The next morning, he cooks breakfast in the apartment he and Takeshi rent. He makes omelets with extra hot sauce, one for each of them.

 

And then he remembers – how Daichi’s face would pinch up when Suga would put too much hot sauce on something, or make the dinners they shared too spicy. He remembers Daichi calling him crazy.

 

Maybe he really _was_ crazy. For still thinking about a boy he hasn’t seen in years. For wondering where he is, how he is, if he’s married. If he’s happy.

 

Suga’s heart sinks.

 

_He must be happy._

 

* * *

 

Anything that matters take time. Things don’t happen right away. Instead, they build. They wait, patiently and impatiently until it seems they will never happen at all.

 

And then, they bloom.

 

* * *

 

Suga is at the supermarket, picking up some Cheerios for a project his Kindergarten students are doing in math the next day. The supermarket might be all the way across town, but it’s got the best prices, and the best produce.

 

He’s reaching for a red bell pepper when he hears what sounds like someone calling his name.

 

First, he thinks he’s imagined it. Sometimes he hears people say things that sound like his name, and usually he’s just assuming it’s his name. Usually, it’s not. However, when he hears it again, he grabs the pepper, straightens, and turns, looking for the source of it. He’s fairly certain that it’s a parent of one of his students, or another faculty member.

 

The last person he expects to see staring back at him is Daichi Sawamura.

 

He’s about 10 yards away, standing in the middle of the bakery situated just past the produce. His arms are at his sides, hands limp.

 

Suga’s whole body goes numb. He very nearly drops the basket draped over his arm, but catches it just before it falls.

 

“Suga,” Daichi says under his breath, taking slow but certain steps forward. Beneath his unwavering gaze, Suga remembers to breathe, takes a few steps forward, and meets Daichi somewhere in the middle.

 

They’re silent for a long moment, before Daichi’s face breaks open into a wide smile and he reaches for Suga – arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders. Steady.

 

Now Suga really does drop his basket. It clatters to the ground with a loud crash as his arms rise to wrap around Daichi’s back, burying his face in the chest of Daichi’s puffy winter jacket.

 

“It’s been so long,” Daichi says, voice just above a whisper.

 

“I didn’t know you were still in Tokyo.”

 

Daichi laughs. “Neither did I.”

 

As soon as they pull apart, the invisible force between them immediately pulls, willing them back together.

 

They stand perfectly still.

 

Suga clears his throat. “It’s… It’s been a long time.”

 

Daichi nods, running a hand through his hair, letting it stall at the back of his neck.

 

“Do you mind some company while you finish shopping?” Daichi asks suddenly, feeling something bubble inside his chest – something that feels like his last chance.

 

Suga shakes his head. “Please.”

 

* * *

 

They walk together through the store, and as soon as they get to talking it feels like old times. Asahi still talks to both of them, it would seem – and they joke about injuring him later for keeping them apart. They talk about how Hinata and Kageyama were now playing for the national Olympic team, how crazy and amazing it is to know athletes like that. To have _played_ with them.

 

They talk about jobs – about Daichi’s, a steady desk job in accounting that he’s already thinking about quitting, about Suga’s recently acquired position at a local Kindergarten where he is taught the true meaning of stress each and every day.

 

And, as they start to wind their way around the front of the store, Daichi asks the question that’s been plaguing his mind for months.

 

“So,” he starts slowly, “are you and Takeshi… Still together?”

 

Suga, who has been quite talkative, grows quiet. His smile fades, just slightly, and he holds up his left hand.

 

Daichi feels any words he might have spoken dry up in his throat. His chest falls.

 

“Just got engaged… a few months ago,” he explains.

 

“Isn’t he the only guy you’ve ever been with?” Daichi asks, and his tone is unintentionally accusatory. “How are you sure he’s the one?”

 

Suga stops walking, and when he does, Daichi stops, too, realizing what he’s said. The way it sounded.

 

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “That was out of line.”

 

Suga just nods. “You’re not wrong… But… I’m happy.” He grits his teeth. Forces the words with a smile on his face. “I’m really happy.”

 

It’s like being shot, Daichi thinks.

 

“Congratulations,” he says – and it feels like an echo from another time.

 

Suga blinks for a second too long. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Daichi ends up walking Suga to the train station. He’s not sure if there’s a line he’s crossing, but part of him isn’t sure he cares. He doesn’t know when he’ll see Suga again. _If._

 

“You should come by sometime,” Suga tells him. “We just got everything unpacked, after living there for two years.”

 

Daichi laughs. “Eh. I don’t think your fiancée likes me too much.”

 

Suga rolls his eyes. “You don’t like him, either.”

 

There’s a pause, and then: “Guess you had me pegged back in college, huh.”

 

“You two somehow found a way to disagree on _everything,_ ” Suga grins, cocking his head up at Daichi, repositioning the basket in his arms. “Why would I ever think anything different?”

 

“I wanted to like him,” Daichi says simply. Suga quirks an eyebrow at him, and he smiles, looking down at his feet. “I wanted you to be happy.”

 

“You did make me happy, Daichi.”

 

He looks up. Suga stares up at him with wide brown eyes. They’re both quiet for a moment, until suddenly the air shifts and the bullet train pulls into the station.

 

“I guess this is goodbye,” Suga tries again. “For now, anyway. Maybe we could get dinner sometime.”

 

Daichi points at himself, smiling half-heartedly. “Already forgetting the fiancée that hates me, eh?”

 

“I meant, without him.” The words leave Suga’s lips before he can stop them from coming.

 

Daichi’s chest tightens, and he knows what he has to do.

 

Hurriedly, Daichi grabs Suga’s hand. “Here,” he says, quick to get a pen out of his back pocket to scribble the digits on Suga’s hand before the train leaves the station – even though he really would rather keep Suga here as long as possible. “My number. God, this is corny, but… Call me. Please.”

 

He pauses, and with Suga’s hand still in his, he looks down into his eyes and says simply: “I missed you.”

 

Suga’s façade falters – he allows himself a brief moment, when real feeling darts across his face, when his heart remembers what it’s like to beat.

 

His fingers curl around Daichi’s.

 

Daichi’s breath catches in his throat.

 

And the doors beep.

 

“Your train’s going to leave,” Daichi tells him, and finally, lets go.

 

Suga nods, brushing past him and curling his inked hand into a fist as he boards the train. Through the foggy train window, his eyes catch Daichi’s; as the train starts to pull away, he sees Daichi raise a hand up into the air.

 

Suga closes his eyes, taking a seat and letting his head fall back against the wall.

 

_Will we ever really say goodbye?_

 

* * *

 

That night, Suga has trouble falling asleep. He feels strange in his own bed, with his back pressed up against Takeshi’s chest. He feels strange when he finds himself thinking about if Daichi and Michimiya are still together, when he hopes selfishly that they’re not.

 

His neck and chest feel hot. He flips the pillow, tries lying on the outside of the blankets… Nothing works. Eventually he gets up, takes a pillow and blanket and moves to the living room couch, where he feels more comfortable. And alone.

 

His fist makes contact with his forehead and he pinches his eyes shut tight. “Stupid,” he whispers weakly. “Stupid. Stupid.” _For letting him back into your heart after putting up barriers for years; for holding his hand like you had the right, like it belonged to you; for pretending Takeshi doesn’t exist when it’s convenient._

 

Something dark churns in the pit of Suga’s stomach, and eventually, he falls into a restless sleep.

 

* * *

 

On a Wednesday night, Suga washes the dishes alone after dinner. He likes doing it because it allows him to get lost in his thoughts, concentrating less on cleaning the dishes and more on the heaviness inside him. It’s been weighing him down ever since he saw Daichi that day at the supermarket, and for weeks after. He hasn’t called him – he can’t work up the courage to, and he can’t do it without something weighing on his conscience.

 

But, God. He had missed him.

 

 _He looked about the same,_ Suga thinks, scrubbing out the inside of a pot. _A little older. A little broader. The circles under his eyes are a little darker. But he’s still Daichi._

 

For the past few years, living alone with Takeshi had been fine, but there had always been some piece of him that he couldn’t give away. A part of his soul that would always belong to Daichi.

 

Suga wonders whether knowing this changes anything. He’s still engaged; he still has a future, promised to Takeshi, promised to their life together.

 

 _Takeshi,_ he thinks.Takeshi is warm. Loving. He holds him after a long day of work. He understands when he needs to be alone. Tries to understand why he hasn’t wanted to be intimate lately; tries to understand why he’s been sleeping alone. Takeshi deserves someone who wants to be touched. He deserves someone who gives back to him the same way he gives to Suga.

 

Suga might have been that for him once. Back when he could fool himself into forgetting, into believing parts of himself that belonged to someone else didn’t exist.

 

His eyes fall down to his left hand. To the ring.

 

His eyebrows furrow. He bows his shoulders over the sink and, letting his eyes slip shut, drops the washcloth back into the cloudy dishwater.

 

_Is this what I really want?_

 

* * *

 

On New Year’s Eve, Suga calls. Daichi is certain it’s his mother, calling to wish him a happy birthday, but then he sees the number appear on his phone without an assigned contact, and he changes his mind.

 

When he hears the voice on the other end, while in the middle of cooking dinner for himself, he nearly drops his phone in the pot of boiling water.

 

“Suga!” he exclaims, fumbling with to catch it before leaning not-so-casually against the counter. His words start to jumble in his head and, taken off-guard, he finds it hard to form sentences. “You… you, uh, yeah! How… how are you?”

 

There’s muffled laughter over the other end, and Suga finally replies, “I’ve been better. But, I thought I should call… I’ve been meaning to for a while now.”

 

“What, uh, took you so long?”

 

 _Smooth,_ he thinks. _Nailed it._

 

“I had some things I had to sort out,” Suga says simply – and something about his tone makes Daichi think he shouldn’t ask him about it. At least, not now. Maybe later.

 

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Daichi manages, even though he’s not really sure what Suga’s talking about. He’s just glad Suga called him at all.

 

Suga laughs again, this time a little softer. “Your voice sounds deeper over the phone.”

 

“That’s what my mom says,” he tells him sheepishly. “Yours sounds about the same… You have a nice voice.”

 

What Daichi can’t see is the blush creeping steadily up Suga’s neck on the other end, as he pulls his scarf up over his the bottom half of his face in attempt to hide his embarrassment from himself.

 

“I was wondering,” Daichi says suddenly. “Not to change the subject. Not that just talking over the phone isn’t great–”

 

“Did you want to get dinner with me tonight?” Suga says hurriedly, his words cutting off what was likely to be Daichi rambling on for ten minutes before getting down to the point.

 

Daichi glances over at the stove, at the boiling water, then down at the sweatpants he’d changed into after work.

 

In a flurry of motion, Daichi flicks off the burner and turns on his heel, rushing toward his bedroom to find something to wear.

 

“Meet me at Tonkatsu Wako near the station in an hour,” he says, yanking his sweatpants off and throwing his closet door open.

 

“Alright,” Suga says – and in his voice, Daichi swears he can hear a smile. “I’ll see you then.”

 

* * *

 

Daichi actually arrives first. Maybe he had been in such a hurry that he had over-rushed himself, thus resulting in arriving 15 minutes ahead of schedule. He stands, back against the side of the building, hands in his gloves, anxiously checking and rechecking his watch. In hindsight, he might be overdressed; he decided on a suit – no tie though, because that’s not cool outside of the office. He hopes Suga doesn’t laugh at him, or that he can tell that Daichi’s already trying too hard the second he sees him.

 

He doesn’t want to let on how much this means to him… And how nervous he is.

 

“Daichi,” he hears a voice call suddenly, and when he looks up, he sees Suga walking toward him beneath the glow of a streetlight.

 

When he walks up, hands in his pockets, Daichi can feel the parts inside him starting to reconnect. The ability to breathe becomes more of a concept.

 

“Hey,” Daichi greets him, and his lips pull up into a smile.

 

“Have you been waiting long?” Suga asks.

 

He shakes his head, even though he feels like he’s spent forever waiting on the street corner. “You hungry?”

 

Suga nods, and lets Daichi hold the door open for him as they enter the restaurant.

 

* * *

 

Dinner goes well. Suga manages to avoid anything and everything related to Michimiya, and – God bless his soul – Daichi doesn’t find a way to squeeze her into their conversation, either.

 

Daichi also finds a way to pay for Suga’s dinner, and although Suga wants to fight him on it, he finds it in him to let himself enjoy this – whatever this is. (Whatever it probably isn’t.) They sit, side-by-side, staring out the window to the street, watching the people pass by, not apologizing when their elbows bump into one another’s (Daichi is a lefty).

 

But the number one thing Suga absolutely does not want to talk about is Takeshi, and Daichi keeps mentioning him. It’s as though he’s doing it just to remind Suga that he knows he exists, to remind them _both_ that he exists.

 

And Suga isn’t quite sure why that is. Why, whenever his eyes meet Daichi’s, he’s already staring back at him; why he looks just as flustered on the outside as Suga feels on the inside.

 

Suga doesn’t understand it, but he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t wish he could.

 

When they leave the restaurant, there’s a strange quiet that falls between them. The quiet hadn’t been there during dinner, when they could think of everything under the sun to talk about. Here, in the darkness, on the way back to the train station, they find themselves holed up, at a loss for words to bridge the gap between their lives. Point A and Point B never seemed so far away.

 

“It’s a nice night,” Daichi tries.

 

“You hate the cold,” Suga counters, gloved hands in his pockets. A smile finds its way to his face. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

 

Daichi laughs back, hand rising to the back of his neck, eyes turning upward. “You’re right. I hate snow, too.”

 

“In that case,” Suga decides, “there’s nothing redeeming about this night at all.”

 

“That’s not true.”

 

Suga glances at him out of the corner of his eye; for the first time tonight, Daichi’s not looking back at him. He sighs, cranes his neck upward. The snow falling overhead starts to come down a little harder, the flakes now seeming more like clumps.

 

Without thinking, Suga’s eyes slip shut and he sticks his tongue out.

 

Daichi finds the courage to look back, finally, and when he does, he finds himself smiling. As a snowflake lands on Suga’s tongue, he congratulates him: “Nice receive.”

 

Suga straightens, eyes meeting Daichi’s, and they both burst into laughter.

 

“That’s _my_ line,” Suga giggles. “You were the ‘receive’ king, after all… Mr. Captain.”

 

Daichi grins unabashedly now; he takes this as his opportunity to rush ahead, shouting “Mine!” as he sticks his tongue out and attempts to catch a snowflake of his own. Then, he turns on his heel, crouches with both arms behind him, and calls: “Send it here!” in his best Hinata impression.

 

Suga laughs, stalling as his body recalls what it was like to set a ball. It’s been so long; slowly, his arms begin to move on their own accord, stretching high above his head. Then he leaps, and his wrists bend toward Daichi, pretending to send an invisible volleyball in his direction.

 

Running back toward Suga, he goes to jump – to spike the ball the way he had done so many times – but, as circumstance would have it, his heel catches a patch of ice on the sidewalk, and just as his feet press off from the ground, he goes reeling backward, falling up into the air before coming down hard on the cement.

 

His head hits the pavement with a heavy _thunk._

 

Suga sees it happen in slow-motion; his heart drops to his stomach, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s running.

 

“Daichi!” The name leaves his lips in a breathless gasp, his knees falling down to the slush-covered ground without thought as his hands find the back of Daichi’s head.

 

“I’m okay,” Daichi says weakly, groaning, trying to sit upright. Suga helps him, one arm cradling his shoulder while the other presses firmly against the ground. “That wasn’t very cool of me,” he laughs, his own hands moving upward, massaging the back of his head tenderly. “Guess that’s what I get for showing off.”

 

Suga’s chest is still tight with worry. “Are you hurt?” he asks, moving closer to Daichi to examine his head. “It doesn’t look like it’s bleeding.”

 

“I’m fine,” Daichi assures him again, this time laughing. “Just a bruised ego is all.”

 

“You’ll probably have a big knob here in the morning,” Suga says, finally letting himself laugh as his hand brushes against the place Daichi’s skull made contact with the concrete. “You should be more careful.”

 

Daichi flushes a little, bashful, smiling back at him. “Sorry.”

 

It’s only now that they realize how close they actually are – and that, despite how cold the ground is, they can’t bring themselves to move.

 

Suga’s hands fall from Daichi’s neck to his lap, clenching them into fists. His breath catches in his throat when, a second later, Daichi reaches toward him to brush the snow from his hair. And, just as Suga thinks his hands will pull away from him, he feels the pads of his fingertips graze the sides of his face. And then, his hands are there, stopping at the smooth curve of his jaw.

 

People passing by might be staring, but Suga can’t process anything but the boy in front of him. He can see nothing but his eyes – feel nothing but his hands.

 

“Suga,” Daichi says, his voice just above a whisper. “Is… is this all there is?”

 

His head feels blank; all Suga can think of is the surrealism of this moment, of these words, and if they will come to mean what his heart tells him they do.

 

He bites down on his lower lip, eyes falling to his hands in his lap. “Daichi…”

 

Without thought, Daichi’s thumb rubs against Suga’s skin – _Soft,_ he thinks, as if it were a revelation. As if he’d been studying this face for years, the one now beneath his careful hold, longing to have held him this way long before this moment.

 

Just as he feels it – that brush of skin against skin – his hands unfurl. He lifts them up, and, trembling, they grab the sleeves of Daichi’s winter jacket.

 

“Did I ever have a chance?” Suga finds himself whispering, and as he does, his voice breaks.

 

Daichi stiffens, his hold growing fiercer. “You always did.”

 

That’s all it takes – for Suga’s stomach to drop, for his heart to break all over again when he thinks of Daichi returning home to Michimiya after this night ends. _Like the clock chiming midnight,_ Suga thinks. _Moments like these don’t last forever._

 

Daichi swallows hard, pulling Suga closer without realizing. “Do I still have a chance?”

 

Suga stops. His eyes, swelling with tears, finally give out, starting to spill before he has time to establish self-control. With every passing second, Daichi is cracking the foundation. The walls around his heart, the ones that have kept it guarded for years – these are the ones that have protected him from Daichi. The ones protecting him from love.

 

And, in one swift blow, he lets them come crashing down.

 

“You always will.”

 

Daichi’s eyebrows pull together, his expression contorting into some kind of excruciating joy.

 

“Then here goes nothing,” he murmurs, tears welling in his own eyes, and as soon as the words spill from his mouth, his lips are pressed against Suga’s.

 

Passion. Hurt. Need. Joy.

 

It’s all here, in the way Suga’s arms wrap around Daichi’s neck, in the way Daichi presses his chest to Suga’s, tightly, as though even this isn’t close enough.

 

And then it all comes out – that Daichi and Michimiya ended things a long time ago, that it had always been Suga… And that, just a few short weeks ago, Suga had given Takeshi his ring back, that he had finally stood up for himself and for his feelings for Daichi, whether there was anything still between them or not. Whether a chance was still there to be given.

 

 _There was,_ he thinks. _For us, there always will be._

 

Together, they finally stand – and as they wipe their faces, as they lift their eyes again to meet each other’s, they smile – and in this moment, they can feel it.

 

Their finally is only just beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! UuU


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